


Dead Air

by anon_decepticon



Category: Transformers, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Gen, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-20
Updated: 2012-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-15 19:43:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anon_decepticon/pseuds/anon_decepticon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soundwave is killed in battle, leaving his cassettes behind to pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Elegia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Peacewish](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Peacewish).
  * Inspired by [These Games We Play](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/2544) by Peacewish. 



> This fic is set during the time gap between the end of season two and TF:TM, prior to Blaster’s acquisition of Rewind, Eject, Steeljaw and Ramhorn. Ratbat, Overkill and Slugfest likewise do not exist in this ‘verse. Inspiration credit goes to and her ongoing kink meme fic “These Games We Play.” There will be additional chapters, but I don’t know how quickly I’ll end up cranking them out in-between _“Crash Course”_ and _“Strictly Business”_ – it all depends which bunnies bite the hardest. Alas, mine is a fickle muse.

**  
Dead Air   
**

It started out as an ordinary day. Another energon raid, another round of kicking Autobot skidplates. Nothing to comm Cybertron about.

It was the worst day of his life.

The battle had been chaotic, but that was nothing new. Thanks to the bond he shared with his fellow Recordicons and Soundwave, Rumble always had a general sense of where they were and what they were doing. Sometimes in the midst of slamming his piledrivers into an Autobot’s faceplate, he’d get a flash of Laserbeak swooping down on a foe, or Ravage pouncing. Sometimes the piledrivers he felt smashing home weren’t his own.

But he was used to that. They all were.

Had Megatron called a retreat? He couldn’t remember. All he could remember was the explosion of agony that came crashing down on him like an atomic bomb, and then…silence.

 _Dead air._

He onlined in the Autobot brig, greeted by the sight of lurid orange walls and humming energon bars. Frenzy was in the cell across from him, huddled into a ball with his arms around his knees. Laserbeak was in the cell to his right, perched listlessly on the narrow berth. Ravage paced in endless circles in the cell opposite her. All three turned to look at him as he sat up, but none spoke.

Rumble stared back at them, meeting each of their optics in turn. A dozen questions leapt into his processor, but he couldn’t bring himself to break the oppressive silence. It seemed wrong to speak. Speaking aloud would make it all real.

 _This isn’t happening._ He could dimly sense the presence of the others through the bond, but he didn’t dare tap into it directly. He didn’t want to face what he would find there.

Or rather, what he _wouldn’t_ find.

Ravage resumed his pacing, his presence a red snarl of anger through the bond. Frenzy’s presence felt sharp and muddled; a black, spiky ball of terror and despair. Laserbeak was a mute grey blob of sorrow.

 _Someone’s missing._ Rumble sat up a little straighter and cast his optics about the room, a feeling of cold dread seizing his spark. There was a gap in the bond, one he’d nearly overlooked in his effort to avoid confronting the vast emptiness that lay at its core.

“Where’s Buzzsaw?”

He winced as his words echoed within the confines of his cell, louder than they should have been. There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Laserbeak emitted a low, keening whine. Ravage snarled, glaring at him through narrowed optics. _*Idiot,*_ he commed succinctly.

“Sorry,” he whispered. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. It was a stupid question. They all knew Buzzsaw had been inside S-

The door to the brig clanged open, making them jump. A large, boxy silhouette filled the opening, and Rumble’s spark pulsed in recognition. A burst of sudden, desperate hope surged through the bond.

Then the figure stepped into the light, and it all came crashing down.

The Autobot Blaster paused just beyond the threshold, regarding them with a faintly bewildered expression, as if he’d made a wrong turn somewhere and come out someplace he hadn’t intended. The Recordicons eyed him warily, waiting for him to move or speak, but the Autobot just stood there, his fists clenching and unclenching.

 _Slagging say something,_ Rumble thought, discomfited by his stare.

Blaster shifted his weight from foot to foot, his optics flicking over each of them in turn. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, resetting his vocalizer.

Rumble couldn’t take it anymore. “What’s the matter, Auto-dope? Too scared to gloat?”

Blaster’s optics narrowed, his expression growing hard. Turning on his heel, he exited the brig without a word, slamming the door behind him.

The clank of his departing footsteps faded, and silence descended on them once more, thick and stifling. This time Frenzy was the one who broke it.

“What do you think they’re gonna do to us?”

Tearing his optics away from the door, Rumble turned to find his spark-twin looking at him expectantly. Laserbeak and Ravage were looking at him too, waiting for his response. “Nothing,” he said with a dismissive shrug. “They’re not gonna torture us. They know we’d never tell ‘em anything anyway. We just have to cool our thrusters here until Megatron cuts a deal to get us back.”

“...what if he doesn’t want us back?” Frenzy asked quietly.

Rumble opened his mouth to respond, but then realized he had no idea what he was going to say. “I dunno,” he replied after a moment. “I guess I’ll think of something.” He slouched back on the berth, propping his backstrut against the wall, and started weighing their options.

Escaping on their own was a long shot, and with Soundwave gone, the odds of a rescue were slim. It was true that Megatron sometimes bartered for the freedom of POWs who’d been captured in battle, but only if the captive warriors were ones he considered unexpendable. Rumble wasn’t sure they qualified.

 _Of course he’ll want us back. We’re still Decepticons._ But then he remembered the time Ravage had been captured by the Autobots shortly after they’d come to Earth. Soundwave had wanted to go back for him, but Megatron had denied his request. If Ravage hadn’t escaped on his own and Megatron’s plan had succeeded, Ravage would have been left behind.

 _Even if he does take us back, we’re as good as slagged without the Boss._ They didn’t have any friends among the ‘Cons. They’d never needed any; Soundwave had always looked out for them. With him gone, who would protect them? _Not Megatron, that's for sure._

Stumped for a solution, Rumble decided to voice the question that had been plaguing his processor ever since he’d onlined in this cell. “D-did any of you see what happened?”

Frenzy shook his head. “All I remember is fighting, and then…” He trailed off.

“And then what?” Rumble sat up, leaning forward to peer through the glowing bars at his twin.

“Screaming,” Frenzy whispered. “I couldn’t stop screaming.”

Rumble slumped back again, his backstrut striking the wall with a soft _clank._ He looked over at Ravage, who was staring at Frenzy with an odd mixture of pity and contempt. _*What about you?*_

 _*Nothing,*_ Ravage commed back. _*There was an explosion, but I didn’t see.*_

They all turned to look at Laserbeak, who responded by hunching closer to the berth, her wings drawing up defensively. She shook her head rapidly, no.

One of the pitfalls of being a bonded symbiote was the inability to lie to those who shared in that bond. Not that they could read each other’s minds – only Soundwave could do that – but contradictory emotions came through loud and clear.

But that wasn’t all that came through. Laserbeak’s agony was acute. When Rumble spoke again, his voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “Did you see it, Beaky?”

She shook her head again, desperately.

 _*Leave her alone,*_ Ravage commed with a growl. _*She didn’t see it.*_

 _But_ Buzzsaw _did,_ Rumble realized, and then wanted to kick himself for not figuring it out sooner. Buzzsaw was – or had been – Laserbeak’s spark-twin, just as Frenzy was his. Whatever Buzzsaw had seen, Laserbeak had gotten a glimpse of it – but only a glimpse.

The fading echoes of a dying spark.

“Never mind,” he said. Suddenly he didn’t want to know. “Doesn’t matter now anyway.”

* * *

Rumble wasn’t sure how much time passed before the ‘Bots came to check on them. It could have been hours, or even days. He hadn’t thought to check his chronometer.

The first one through the door was Ironhide, followed by the big white Autobot Rumble recognized as their medic. Prowl came in next, and then Optimus Prime himself, much to Rumble’s surprise.

 _Well what do you know,_ he thought bitterly. _The gang’s all here._

The medic – Ratchet, he recalled belatedly – immediately headed for the nearest cell, which just happened to be Ravage’s. Ravage snarled at his approach, lashing out at him through the bars when the Autobot ventured too close. Ironhide was at his side in an instant, his gun drawn.

“Easy now,” Ratchet said, holding up his hands to show they were empty. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

 _*Eat slag, Autobot,*_ Ravage replied, lunging at him again. Rumble smirked.

“Ratchet, wait,” Optimus Prime said. He turned to address them as a group, his optics grave. “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you all. Soundwave and Buzzsaw have been deactivated.”

“No slag,” Rumble said. “Tell us something we _don’t_ know.”

The Autobots exchanged glances. Prowl’s expression was unreadable. Ironhide looked annoyed. Ratchet looked sympathetic, which fragged Rumble off most of all. The medic shared a long look with his commander, and Rumble just knew they were talking about them over their comms. He’d have staked a cube of high grade on it.

 _Go ahead and talk, you slaggers,_ he thought with a scowl. _We’re not telling you anything._

After a moment Optimus Prime turned back to them, his gaze resting on each of them in turn. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Sure you are,” Rumble said. “So when’s the party?”

Prime hesitated, but pressed on. “I’ve asked Teletraan-1 to transmit a message to Megatron informing him of your status. So far there’s been no response. It’s possible he hasn’t received it yet.”

“Or he doesn’t care,” Frenzy said.

Rumble leapt to his feet. “Shut up, Frenzy. And you,” he said, glaring at Ratchet, who had started towards Frenzy’s cell. “Stay away from him.”

Ratchet stopped, but didn’t back away. “I just want to run a few scans on him,” he said. “On all of you. Just to make sure you’re all right.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “You’ve been trying to kill us for vorns. A couple joors ago you were all shooting at us, now you expect us to _trust_ you?” A faint buzz of static had crept into his vocalizer, but Rumble ignored it. “Frag _that_. You’re not touchin’ any of us.”

“The Cybertronian Accords dictate that prisoners of war are entitled to repairs, if needed,” Prowl said. “No one will violate that edict as long as I remain second in command.”

“Well, we don’t need any repairs,” he said, and Ravage’s snarl echoed his sentiment. “Frenzy’s fine – aren’t ya, Frenzy?” he added, shooting his twin a _look._

Frenzy nodded. “Yeah.”

“See? We’re all fine, so slag off.”

“Why you little punk,” Ironhide said. “I oughta –”

“You oughta what?” Rumble retorted, summoning his piledrivers. “C’mon in here and say that, you old rust-heap. Or are you too scared?”

“Ironhide, stand down,” Optimus Prime’s voice cut in, silencing the old warrior’s reply. He looked at Rumble. “Ratchet is concerned because we found Buzzsaw’s remains inside Soundwave’s chest compartment, but were unable to determine the cause of death. He wants to make certain you four are not also in danger of deactivating.”

For the first time in his life, Rumble didn’t have a ready retort. He didn’t think they were likely to keel over just because Soundwave had, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t depended on him. Spending time “in the box” allowed Soundwave’s systems to take over for theirs, regulating and repairing any damage they incurred.

Out of all of them, Rumble had spent the most time “outside,” and knew all too well how much stress even normal, everyday activities placed on their smaller, more delicate systems, how prone their internal components were to burning out from the strain. Cassettes weren’t built to last without a carrier. Without Soundwave, they’d be in almost constant need of repairs.

The silence stretched out, and Rumble wanted desperately to fill it with the usual jibes and insults, but his vocalizer refused to function. He realized now that Megatron would never sign on for the amount of maintenance it would take to keep them operational; he’d consider it a waste of resources. Soundwave had always performed all of their repairs, anyway. Hook wouldn’t even know how.

Some of his anxiety must have carried over the bond, because Frenzy spoke up again. “What’s gonna happen to us?”

“Shut up, Frenzy,” he said, but the words came out more shaken than commanding. He couldn’t really blame his twin for being scared. Frenzy had always been fragile. He’d spent more time in the box than the rest of them combined. Rumble had asked Soundwave why once, and Soundwave had explained that something must have gone wrong when their sparks split, causing them to separate unevenly. Frenzy had gotten the weaker half.

 _Rumble: Strong. Frenzy: Weak. Conclusion: Rumble must protect Frenzy._

No way was he going to let some Autobot touch his spark-twin. No fragging way.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen to you,” Optimus Prime said, glancing between them. “But I do know that as long as you remain in Autobot custody, no harm will come to you. I give you my word.”

“And mine as well,” Prowl chimed in. “If you wish, I will remain here while Ratchet examines you to ensure your safety.”

Rumble stared at them in disbelief. “What part of _we’re not damaged_ do you glitches not understand?” he said. “I may be dumb, but I’m not _stupid._ ”

“He can look at me,” Frenzy said quietly. “I’m…not feelin’ so good right now, Rumble.”

“Like frag he can!” Rumble said, but his reply was drowned out by Ravage’s scream of rage. Ravage flung himself at the energon bars fronting his cell, heedless of the energy crackling over his frame, swiping at Frenzy with his claws. Laserbeak took to the air as Frenzy scrambled to get out of reach, crying out in distress and battering herself against the walls of her cell.

 _*Traitor!*_

 _*Master!*_

 _*They_ killed _our Master!*_

Rumble could hear the Autobots shouting, but their voices were nothing but white noise compared to the clamor of emotions flooding the bond. He heard a high, keening whine over the cacophony of clashing metal and distorted feedback, and realized with a start that it was coming from his own vocalizer. “ ** _STOP IT!_** ” he screamed.

To his amazement, they stopped. Ravage fell back and began to pace again, growling softly. Laserbeak settled onto the berth, ducking her head and scooting backward until she fetched up against the rear wall. Frenzy remained where he was, wedged in the farthest corner of his cell, his face hidden in his arms, his vocalizer spitting static.

“Thank you,” Optimus Prime said.

Rumble looked up, and was alarmed to discover that Autobot leader was addressing _him_. It made him feel vaguely ashamed, as if he’d done something wrong. “What for? I didn’t do nothing.”

“You convinced them to stand down,” Optimus Prime said. “Do you think you might also persuade them to allow Ratchet's scans?”

 _*Only if he doesn’t mind losing an arm,*_ Ravage commed darkly.

 _ _What is he asking_ me _for?_ Rumble thought. A queasy feeling rippled through his fuel tank. “Persuade ‘em yourself,” he muttered. “I’m not the Boss.”_

Prime looked at Ratchet, who nodded and started toward Frenzy’s cell. _Trust an Autobot to pick on the easy target,_ Rumble thought. “Not him,” he said. “You leave him alone.”

Ratchet paused and looked at Ravage, who hissed and growled, his servos whining as he gathered himself to spring. _*Just try it, Autobot. I’ll rip you to shreds.*_

“Him either,” Rumble said. “He’ll kill you.”

Ironhide made a disgusted noise, but Ratchet gamely moved on to Laserbeak’s cell. When Rumble didn’t immediately object, the medic looked back at him inquiringly.

Rumble hesitated, not sure what to say. Laserbeak wasn’t like Frenzy; he knew she could take care of herself. But she wasn’t acting like herself right now. Maybe it was a side effect of losing her spark-twin – Rumble couldn’t begin to imagine how that felt, not even with the bond to clue him in – but could Laserbeak actually have been _damaged_ by it? The Autobots seemed to think so.

 _*You okay, Beaky?*_ he commed her privately. _*You want him to scan you?*_

Laserbeak cocked her head, her golden optics gleaming as they shifted from him to Ravage and back again. She gave a minute shake of her head.

Rumble frowned, a faint twinge of worry shooting through his spark. He hadn’t realized until that moment how much he’d been hoping she would speak. He turned back to the medic, shaking his head. “She says no.”

“What about you?” Ratchet asked.

For some reason the question surprised him. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” Ratchet said, looking amused. “Would you be willing to let me examine you?”

Rumble opened his mouth to say no, of course he wasn’t going to let some stupid Autobot poke around in his chassis, and what did he look like, a moron? But the words didn’t come. He glanced at Frenzy, still tucked tightly into the corner of his cell.

He knew what Soundwave would say. _Autobots: Not to be trusted._ But Soundwave was gone.

Maybe Megatron would take them back. Maybe he wouldn’t. Either way, sooner or later they were going to need repairs. A _lot_ of repairs.

 _I’m…not feelin’ so good right now, Rumble._

 _Rumble must protect Frenzy._

The medic was still looking at him, patiently awaiting his response.

 _What do I do?_ Panic gripped his spark. _I don’t know what to do!_

“Yeah, okay,” he whispered.

Ravage snarled, but Rumble quickly opened a comm to him. _*I gotta do it, Ravage. I have to let him! What if he’s right? What if Megatron doesn’t take us back? Who’s gonna repair us?*_

 _*They are Autobots. They are the enemy!*_

 _*I know that! That’s why it’s gotta be me!*_ He looked at Ravage, his optics pleading. _*I’m not the Boss. I’m not smart like he was. I’m only good at breakin’ stuff! What else can I do?*_

Ravage growled, pacing back and forth in agitation.

 _*If they slag me up, you’ve gotta get ‘em away. Don’t let any of them touch you. Just run.*_

There was no change in Ravage’s outward demeanor, but Rumble sensed his grudging acceptance through the bond. Good thing, too, because the Autobots were already gathering outside his cell.

“Back,” Ironhide ordered. “Aft on the berth, hands where I can see ‘em.”

Rumble obeyed, retracting his piledrivers and taking a seat on the berth. Ironhide kept his gun trained on him while Prowl punched in a code to neutralize the bars. Then Ratchet and Ironhide stepped inside, and Prowl reactivated the barrier.

Rumble regarded them warily. In the close quarters of his cell, the two Autobots seemed even larger than usual. And there was nowhere for him to run - Ironhide's gun was pointed right at his spark.

“Turn off your audials, Ironhide,” Ratchet said.

“What? Are you glitched?”

“No, I’m a medic,” Ratchet replied. He looked at Rumble. “So, any damage I should know about?”

Rumble scoffed. “Nah, I just wanted to see what you think you’re gonna do to me. I could use a laugh.”

Ironhide bristled. “Why you little –”

“Audials, _off_ ,” Ratchet interrupted crisply. “Don’t make me do it for you, Ironhide – I might slip and deactivate your vocalizer, too.” He looked back at Rumble. “I’m going to start with a basic low-intensity scan. It may tingle a bit.”

Rumble smirked. “I knew you Autobots were dolts; I didn’t know you were pervs, too.”

“Only during off hours,” Ratchet replied. He glanced over his shoulder at Ironhide, who hadn’t reacted to either statement. “Good. Now I won’t have to reformat him into a toaster.” He turned back to Rumble. “Initiating the scan now.”

Rumble tensed, bracing himself, but didn’t object. _This is it, Rumble. Don’t frag it up._

The scan did tingle a little, but it didn’t hurt. Mostly it just felt weird. Rumble did his best to hold still and not fidget.

“Raise your right arm,” Ratchet said, and Rumble complied. The tingling briefly intensified, tickling along his right side.

“Good, now the left,” Ratchet said. “Any weakness, dizziness, or loss of motor control?”

Rumble switched arms, shrugging as he did so. “No, no, and I don’t have a motor. I’m a cassette.”

Ratchet chuckled. “Good, good. You can put your arm down now – wait. Stop right there.”

Rumble froze with his arm half-lowered. “What?”

“Don’t move,” Ratchet said. He reached out and grabbed Rumble’s elbow. Rumble flinched and tried to pull away, a wave of terror engulfing his spark.

“Got it,” Ratchet said, straightening. “That’s a nasty little souvenir.” The medic let go of his arm and held up a small chunk of shrapnel.

Rumble huffed dismissively, trying to get a grip on his pulsing spark. “Big deal,” he said. “That’s probably been in there for ages.”

Ratchet grinned. “You want me to put it back?”

“No,” Rumble replied sullenly. Now the stupid fragger was making fun of him. “Are we done yet?”

“Yep,” Ratchet said. “I officially declare you fully operational.”

“Yippee,” he said. He lowered his helm as the medic turned away, avoiding his optics. “So, uh…how did it happen?”

Evidently his tone was enough to clue the Autobot in to what he meant, because Ratchet’s expression sobered immediately. “The energon cache exploded,” he said. “Took out most of the building it was in, threw up a lot of debris. As near as we can tell, Soundwave was impaled by a part of a flying girder. It went straight through his spark chamber.”

“Oh,” he said. That would explain the pain. “So it was quick.”

Ratchet nodded. “Very quick. His spark would have been extinguished almost instantly. He probably didn’t even feel it.”

“He felt it,” Rumble said. “We all felt it.”

Ratchet reached out to lay a hand on Rumble’s shoulder-strut, but let it drop back to his side when Rumble recoiled. “Ironhide,” he said, giving the other Autobot a jab with his elbow. “Turn on your audials. It’s time to go.”

He turned back to the glowing barrier and nodded to Prowl, who began to enter the locking code. Ironhide watched Rumble narrowly as Ratchet exited the cell, then slowly backed out himself, keeping Rumble firmly within his sights. The barrier went back up.

“You should probably check on Frenzy too,” Rumble said without looking up.

“I plan to,” Ratchet replied. True to his word, the Autobot medic was already headed that way. Ravage snarled as he drew closer, pacing rapidly back and forth.

Rumble watched as they repeated the same set of actions to enter Frenzy’s cell, and heard Ratchet once again tell Ironhide to switch off his audials. His spark started pulsing faster. He wasn’t sure if the anxiety was his, or Frenzy’s. Maybe it belonged to both of them.

“I need you to stand up so I can perform the scan,” Ratchet said. “Can you do that, Frenzy?”

“Yeah…I think so,” Frenzy replied, speaking so softly Rumble had to turn up the gain on his audials just to hear him. He slid down off the berth and edged closer to the bars, trying to get a better view of what was happening in Frenzy’s cell. At the moment all he could see was the backs of the two Autobots, one red, one white.

He heard a soft clank. “Whoa, easy there,” he heard Ratchet say. The medic was bending over now, reaching for something Rumble couldn’t see. A flicker of embarrassment shivered over the bond.

“’m okay,” Frenzy protested. “I can do it, just gimme a –”

There was a strange grinding noise, followed by the splash of something wet hitting the deck plating. Ironhide cursed. Rumble craned his neck cables, trying to catch a glimpse of his twin, and spied a small glowing pool of energon on the floor, some of it splattered across Ratchet’s feet. The embarrassment within the bond abruptly intensified.

“Sorry,” Frenzy muttered.

“No harm done,” Ratchet said. “Any more where that came from?”

“No,” Frenzy replied sheepishly. “I think that’s it.”

“Do you feel dizzy?” Ratchet asked. “Weaker than usual?”

“Kind of,” Frenzy admitted.

Ratchet nodded, as if that was what he was expecting to hear. “I need you to open up your chestplate for me.”

 _What?_ Rumble thought, his spark clenching in panic. _Frenzy, no!_ He was about to open a comm link to his twin when heard Frenzy ask suspiciously, “What for?”

“I think you’ve got a hairline crack in your fuel tank,” Ratchet replied, raising his voice to be heard over Ravage’s increasingly louder growls. Laserbeak trilled uneasily, shifting on her makeshift perch.

“Is that bad?” Frenzy asked.

“Yes,” Ratchet replied simply.

“How do I know you’re not lying to me?” Frenzy said.

“You don’t,” Ratchet said. “But if you look there, you’ll notice that’s not just energon on the floor. See the swirls? That’s either oil or lubricant. Neither is a good sign.”

There was a pause. “How do you fix it?” Frenzy asked.

“First I'll scan your internals to pinpoint the breach. Then I’ll apply a patch weld to seal it. Your regenerative systems can take over from there.”

“And if I say no?”

“It’ll probably get worse,” Ratchet said. “The crack could get larger, and any energon you put in your tank could become corrupted and damage your internal systems. Or it could leak out and explode.”

“You’re puttin’ me on,” Frenzy said.

“No, I’m not,” Ratchet said. “But it’s up to you. There’s a chance your regenerative systems might fix it on their own, given enough time. It’s unlikely, but it’s possible.”

Another pause. “You’d better not try anything funny in there,” Frenzy said.

Rumble’s optics widened as he realized Frenzy intended to do what the Autobot said – but by then Ratchet was already performing the scan. Ravage crouched down low in his cell, his abdominal plating almost scraping the floor. His growls dropped into subsonic range, vibrating the deckplating beneath him.

“There it is,” Ratchet said after a moment. His right hand shifted into a welding torch, and a bright light flared up between them, briefly illuminating Frenzy’s darker frame. Frenzy was standing stiffly upright, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, a defiant expression on his faceplate.

“Frenzy?” Rumble said.

“I’m okay,” Frenzy called back.

Ratchet straightened, his hand replacing the welding torch once more. “That should do it. You can close up now.” He reached into his subspace, extracting a small cube of energon. “Here,” he said, offering it to Frenzy. “You’ll need to replace that fuel you lost.”

Frenzy closed his chestplate and accepted the cube, still eyeing the medic suspiciously. He didn’t drink the energon.

“Don’t gulp it down all at once,” Ratchet said. “That patch will need some time to set, and the last thing I need is you getting overcharged. Just take a few sips every breem or so, got it?”

“Yeah, I got it,” Frenzy said, still not touching the energon.

Ratchet nodded, then prodded Ironhide again, signaling to Prowl. They exited Frenzy’s cell much as they had Rumble’s, and within a few astroseconds the barrier was back in place.

“Anyone else change their minds about getting a scan?” Ratchet asked, looking around at the remaining Recordicons.

Ravage snarled again, making his answer so obvious Rumble didn’t even bother to translate. Laserbeak inched forward on the berth, her posture tense and wary, and vocalized a soft crooning noise.

Ratchet arched a brow plate, glancing at Rumble. “Was that a yes?”

“Yeah,” Rumble said. Once they were out of Frenzy’s cell, he’d almost relaxed, but now his worry returned in force. He watched as the Autobots repeated the process to enter Laserbeak’s cell.

“Anything in particular you’d like me to look at?” Ratchet asked her.

Laserbeak tilted her head to meet his optics, and hesitantly raised her left wing. From the awkward vantage point of his cell, Rumble could see that the paint on the tip was scuffed, but the wing itself didn’t appear to be damaged.

“Oh, I see,” Ratchet said. He reached down to carefully run his fingertips over the proffered wing, checking for damage. Laserbeak held very still, but couldn’t conceal the slight tremor that ran through her frame.

“I don’t think that’s anything to worry about,” Ratchet said finally. “Does it hurt anywhere else?”

Laserbeak looked up at him and keened softly.

“I know,” Ratchet said. “I’m sorry.”

Laserbeak hunched down again, scooting back on the berth.

Ratchet nodded to Ironhide, who hadn’t been ordered to switch off his audials this time – Rumble guessed Ratchet had figured out that Laserbeak couldn’t talk without using her comm – and together they departed the cell, rejoining Prowl and Optimus Prime in the passageway outside.

Ratchet glanced at Ravage again, but one look made it clear that Ravage had no intention of letting an Autobot anywhere near him. “I guess that’s all I can do for now,” he said, meeting his commander’s optics. “They’ll need energon within the next few joors if Megatron hasn’t commed by then.”

“Understood, thank you Ratchet,” Optimus Prime said. He looked over Rumble. “I’ll see that you’re notified the moment we have news.”

“Yeah,” Rumble said. He had a feeling they were going to be waiting a long time. If the look Optimus Prime was giving him was anything to go by, the Autobot leader thought so, too. _What’s going to happen to us?_

 _Dead air._


	2. The Sound of Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time we get a look at things from the Autobot perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is set during the time gap between the end of season two and TF:TM. Ratbat, Overkill, Slugfest, Rewind, Eject, Steeljaw and Ramhorn do not exist in this ‘verse. Inspiration credit goes to Peacewish and her ongoing kink meme fic “[ _These Games We Play_](http://community.livejournal.com/tfanonkink/1174.html?thread=1327254#t1327254)” for the original plotbunny, with additional nods to TSBP's “[ _Trapped_](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5462732/1/Trapped)” and L. Mouse's “[ _An Adjustment of Plans_](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6390896/1/An_Adjustment_of_Plans).” Even though _"Dead Air"_ is very different from these fics, they've all helped me to build my own headcanon regarding how the relationship between Soundwave and his cassettes works.

Soundwave. Megatron’s third in command. Deactivated.

Ratchet stared at the grayed-out shell that had once been one of the most feared and hated mechs in the Decepticon army, a tumult of conflicting emotions warring in his spark.

Foremost among them was relief. Soundwave had been a dangerous enemy, and had caused enough damage over the course of the war for his death to count as a victory even in the mind of a medic. Ratchet had repaired a lot of that damage personally. Some of it had been inflicted on mechs he considered his friends.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to celebrate Soundwave’s death. The desire to save lives was coded deep into his core programming, and Ratchet knew that given the chance, he’d have tried to save Soundwave. He’d have grumbled about it, called himself a fool for trying, but he’d have done it anyway. To a medic, death was the real enemy. Every spark extinguished was a battle lost. 

But being a medic was only part of it. The other part – a rather large part, if he was completely honest with himself – had less to do with Soundwave and more to do with those he’d left behind.

And that was the true source of Ratchet's ambivalence – not Soundwave’s death, but the plight of his cassettes. He knew many of the Autobots would be perfectly happy to let the Recordicons follow Soundwave to the Pit – some might even offer to help speed them along – but he also knew he wasn’t the only one with mixed feelings. He could still remember the look on Hound’s face when he’d approached him on the battlefield, carrying a limp, offline Frenzy in his arms…

~~

“What is it now?” he demanded, wondering why Hound was coming to him instead of Ironhide or Prowl. The Decepticons were finally retreating, scattered by the enormous explosion that had rocked the landscape, and as the chief medical officer he had far more pressing concerns than some pint-sized prisoner of war.

“I’m not exactly sure,” Hound said. 

Something in his tone made Ratchet turn and look at him. Hound’s plating was scratched and dented, informing him at a glance that Hound had gone a few rounds against Frenzy’s piledrivers, but Hound didn’t look like a mech who’d come out the victor in a fight with the berserker half of Soundwave’s two-mech wrecking crew. He looked more shaken than Ratchet had ever seen him.

“I don’t know what happened,” Hound said, sounding vaguely apologetic. “One minute he was talking trash, trying to pound me into scrap metal like always, and the next he was grabbing his helm and _screaming_ like…” Hound shook his head, clearly disturbed by the memory. “…and then he just _dropped_ , like a sack of spare parts. Never seen anything like it.”

Ratchet frowned, feeling an uncharacteristic twinge of concern as he studied the offline Decepticon. Apart from a few scuffs and dings, Frenzy’s plating showed no outward signs of damage. 

“I didn’t even hit him that hard,” Hound continued. “Pit, I barely hit him at all! Slagger had me pinned. You think he’s got some kinda glitch?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Couldn’t hurt to check. Any sign of Soundwave?”

“Not that I’ve seen,” Hound replied. “Guess he ditched him. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Ratchet frowned at that. He’d never been certain of the exact nature of Soundwave’s relationship with his cassettes, but he suspected it was tantamount to slavery. The only other carrier model he’d ever encountered was Blaster, who had no cassettes of his own and seemed reluctant to discuss the topic. That alone spoke volumes as far as Ratchet was concerned.

“Take him to Ironhide or Prowl,” he said. It wasn’t standard practice for them to take fallen Decepticons prisoner after a battle, but he reasoned that Frenzy was more likely to possess useful information than the average Decepticon grunt. “I’ll have a look at him once we get back to the _Ark_.”

Hound nodded and moved off, and Ratchet resumed his efforts to locate and perform field repairs on any Autobot who’d suffered critical damage during the fight. Frenzy’s odd behavior aside, it wasn’t until the other ‘Bots started reporting in that he began to suspect something was seriously wrong.

The first comm came from Jazz, over an open channel. _*Anyone want to buy a slightly dented bird-bot? Looks like Soundwave left ol’ Laserbeak behind.*_

 _*Ravage too,*_ Trailbreaker commed back. _*Just found him in a pile of rubble; he’s out for the count.*_

 _*So’s Laserbeak,*_ Jazz replied. _Dropped outta the sky like a rock an’ nearly conked me on the helm. Guess they don’t make Decepticons like they used to.*_

Several of the ‘Bots laughed at that, but Ratchet didn’t join in. Frowning, he turned and started back in their direction – and promptly tripped over an offline Rumble. _*Something’s wrong,*_ he commed as he bent to retrieve the smaller mech. _*I just found Rumble, too.*_

 _*Um…Ratchet?*_ Bluestreak interrupted before the others could respond. _*I think you’d better get over here.*_

_*What is it, Bluestreak? Are you all right?*_

_*I’m fine,*_ Bluestreak replied, not sounding fine at all. _*But I really think you need to see this. Please come.*_

~~

 _Poor Bluestreak,_ Ratchet thought, shaking himself free of the memory. _Why did_ he _have to be the one to find Soundwave? Kid’s seen enough death for one lifetime._

But found him Bluestreak had, grotesquely impaled and undeniably dead, sprawled amidst the scattered clumps of debris. By the time Ratchet reached them, Soundwave’s distinctive blue and white plating had already faded to grey.

He sent Bluestreak to fetch Prowl and Optimus Prime, which was fortunate – Ratchet suspected the grim discovery of Buzzsaw’s lifeless shell within Soundwave’s shattered chest compartment would have been too much for the traumatized gunner to bear.

The decision to bring them all back to the _Ark_ had been a largely practical one. Red Alert wanted to find out if any of Soundwave’s security codes or encrypted data files could be retrieved, Ratchet wanted him for parts, and Prowl was worried the Recordicons might go on a rampage without a master to control them. 

The results of the autopsy were unsurprising; the cause of death was what he’d speculated when he’d assessed Soundwave’s damage out in the field – a freak accident no one could have predicted. 

It wasn’t until he’d extracted Buzzsaw from Soundwave’s chest compartment that Ratchet really began to worry. The girder that had pierced Soundwave’s spark chamber with such uncanny accuracy had also gone through Buzzsaw, but none of the Recordicon’s vital systems had sustained critical damage. By all rights, Buzzsaw should have survived…and yet he hadn’t.

That, coupled with the fact that every one of Soundwave’s surviving cassettes had inexplicably offlined within astroseconds of his death – screaming, in the case of Frenzy – pointed to one very disturbing conclusion. There was only one type of connection Ratchet knew of that could trigger _that_ reaction.

_A spark bond._

He’d immediately brought his concerns to Optimus, because it was a well-known fact that bonded Cybertronians rarely survived the death of their bondmates. Proximity was said to be a factor (which was why Optimus and Elita remained light years apart), but Ratchet had seen many mechs and femmes separated by the war survive their sparkmate’s deaths only to lose their will to live in less than an orn.

Then again, his experience was mostly limited to two-way spark bonds. Ratchet had never heard of a multi-spark bond outside of a gestalt (although he _had_ heard rumors that Soundwave had played a key role in the Decepticons’ discovery of gestalt technology), but if the effects were even remotely similar, there were four mechs sitting in their brig that might very well be teetering on the brink of death.

It had been three Earth days since Soundwave had fallen, with still no word from Megatron. Earlier that morning, Optimus Prime had finally acceded to his officers' grim-yet-practical advice and given the order for Ratchet to download Soundwave's memory core and strip his shell for parts.

The reason for Megatron's disinterest quickly became evident. Soundwave had obviously anticipated the possibility that his remains might be captured by the enemy, because all Ratchet found in his CPU were the remnants of a failsafe program designed to overwrite his memory core at the point of deactivation. Whatever vital Decepticon intelligence he might have possessed, it was safely beyond their reach.

Hardly surprising, given Soundwave's rank and reputation; Prowl and Optimus accepted the results of his report without comment, and Red Alert merely muttered grudgingly. Ratchet doubted any of them had expected any better. They all knew that if there _had_ been any useful intelligence to gain, Megatron would be outside of the _Ark_ right now, trying to blow them all into atoms. 

But he wasn't, which left them with a whole new set of problems. Four of them, to be specific.

 _Can’t even be bothered to collect his own soldiers._ Ratchet wasn’t sure why, but for some reason Megatron’s failure to reply to their comms really fragged him off. It seemed… _disrespectful_.

 _You’re one to talk, Ratch._ He huffed in irritation, once again drawing his attention away from his recent memory files and back to the task at hand. It was an unpleasant duty, to be sure, but a necessary one. Soundwave’s data files might be useless to them, but nearly all of his parts were salvageable. 

_One of these components could save Blaster’s life someday,_ he reminded himself. _You’ll be glad you did this then, just like you were when you used Hauler’s parts to repair Grapple that time._

Venting a sigh, he removed another vital component from Soundwave’s internals and set it aside for later cleaning. He carefully avoided looking at the broken cassette laid out on the tray-table to his right, the trailing ends of twisted tape coiled delicately around it. Buzzsaw was not only dead but in his alt mode; there was no way he could be staring at Ratchet with accusing optics.

 _Pit, this is ridiculous._ The Recordicons might be small, but they were far from harmless – a fact more than one ‘Bot had learned the hard way. Much of the havoc Soundwave had wreaked had been wrought via their claws and piledrivers, and Ratchet certainly had no reason to feel _sorry_ for the little hellions.

…but that day in the _Ark’s_ brig, they hadn’t looked dangerous at all. Dwarfed by cells built for mechs three and four times their size, struggling to hide their grief behind insults and threats, they’d just looked…small and frightened and lost. It was clear Soundwave’s death had hit them hard; no amount of bluster could disguise _that_ much pain. 

And pain was the one thing a medic couldn’t ignore.

* * *

He’d finally managed to get his processor to focus long enough to start making some headway with Soundwave when his comm pinged. _*What?*_ he snapped. Slagging interruptions – 

_*Those cassettes are up to something.*_

_*Good to hear from you too, Red Alert,_ he commed back. _*I’m great, thanks for asking.*_

 _*I don’t have time for pleasantries, Ratchet. Not while the security of the_ Ark _is at stake.*_

Ratchet made a derisive noise. Red Alert was an excellent Security Director, but his paranoia was well-documented. _*My apologies,*_ he replied dryly. _*Please tell me all about the grave threat posed by the four mechs currently locked in our brig.*_

The annoyed huff that came back over the comm link brought a smirk to Ratchet’s lip components, but Red Alert was just getting started. _*That’s right, go ahead and laugh! We’ll see who’s laughing when we’re all deactivated in our recharge cycles because you thought it would be more fun to laugh at me than to actually listen to what I have to say –!*_

Okay, so maybe he’d taken the teasing a little too far. _*What can I do for you, Red?*_

There was a startled pause, in which nothing passed over the comm link but a crackle of static. Then: _*I want you to take their comms offline.*_ Red Alert spoke quickly, as if he expected the request to be refused. 

_And with good reason,_ Ratchet thought. But he kept his temper in check. _*What for? They’re already blocked from transmitting messages outside the_ Ark _, and they don’t have the comm frequencies of anyone inside – not unless the ‘Cons break in to rescue them.*_ His gaze fell on the half-dismantled frame of Soundwave, his vital components stacked up on trays waiting to be cleaned and sterilized. _*Under the circumstances, that seems pretty unlikely.*_

_*But they can still comm each other,*_ Red Alert said. _*Soundwave was the Decepticon Communications Officer! We can’t take any chances –*_

Ratchet had heard enough. _*No.*_

_*But –*_

_*The answer is no, Red Alert.*_ he repeated firmly. _*First of all, as far as I’ve been able to determine, comms are Ravage and Laserbeak’s_ only _means of communication. Second, it appears all four of them were spark bonded to Soundwave – you_ do _understand what that means, don't you Red?*_

 _*Yes, but –*_ Red Alert began, but Ratchet had worked up too much of a head of steam to let him finish.

_*It_ means _that right now, that connection they have to each other is the_ only _thing keeping them alive. So no, I_ won’t _be taking that away from them, and I don’t care what your reasons are. I’m not in the habit of murdering my patients.*_

_*But I’m telling you, they’re PLOTTING something!*_

Ratchet cycled air through his vents and prayed to Primus for patience. As angry as he was, the fact that Red Alert had refused to back down in the face of that anger gave him pause. Aboard the _Ark_ , his temper was legendary. 

_*What makes you so sure they’re plotting something?*_ he asked finally.

Sensing an opening, Red Alert didn’t waste any time. _*I’ve been watching them on the security cams. They wait until night, then wake out of recharge. They pretend to be offline, but you can see the glow from their optics. I’m certain they’re sending messages to each other over their comms.*_

Ratchet ran an exasperated hand over his faceplate. _*Maybe they’re just talking.*_

 _*Or they’re plotting to break out of their cells and kill us all,*_ Red Alert retorted. _*If they've got nothing to hide, why pretend to recharge? Why wait until they think they're unobserved?*_

Ratchet vented a sigh, rubbing his chevron. _*Have you seen them doing anything suspicious_ apart _from comming each other?*_

 _*Well…no.*_ Red Alert admitted. _*They don’t move around much. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t up to something! It just means I haven’t_ caught _them yet–*_

_*What do you mean, they don’t move around much?*_

Red Alert seemed nonplussed. _*Just what I said. Obviously if they’re pretending to recharge –*_

The memory file of Ravage pacing restlessly in his cell rose up in Ratchet’s cache. _*Not much, or not at all?*_ he asked. _*They’re still pacing, right? Fidgeting?*_

 _*Now that you mention it…no,*_ Red Alert replied slowly. A moment later Ratchet heard him curse softly. _*I knew it – I_ knew _they were up to something!*_

 _*I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to go down and check,*_ he said. _*Run a few scans, see if I find anything out of the ordinary. I’ll comm Prowl as well, ask him if he’s noticed anything unusual.*_

 _*Excellent, thank you Ratchet.*_ Red Alert sounded both startled and pleased. _*Keep me informed; I’ll continue to monitor things from here.*_

Ratchet disconnected with a shake of his helm. He had every intention of doing what he’d said, but not to satisfy Red Alert’s paranoia. From the sound of things, Soundwave’s surviving cassettes had grown significantly weaker in the short time since he’d last seen them.

He opened another comm link, this time to Prowl. It was answered almost immediately. 

_*Prowl here.*_

_*Prowl, it’s Ratchet. Are the Recordicons getting the energon rations I prescribed?*_

If Prowl was offended by the suggestion that he wasn’t properly carrying out his CMO’s directives, he gave no sign. _*Yes, of course.*_

_*And are they consuming them completely?*_

_*They appear to be. Why do you ask?*_

_*Red Alert thinks they’re up to something,*_ he said, feeling vaguely sheepish.

 _*I see.*_ Prowl’s tone was so bland Ratchet wondered if Red Alert had gone to him first. _*And you agree with him?*_

 _*Pit, no,*_ he replied. _*But I am concerned they’re not getting enough energon. He implied they’ve been acting kind of lethargic.*_

Prowl hummed thoughtfully. _*They do appear rather listless of late. I assumed it was simply boredom. There’s not much to do in a prison cell.*_

 _*I’d like to come down and have a look at them, just to be on the safe side,*_ he said. _*I can bring their energon ration for the day.*_

 _*Very well,*_ Prowl agreed. _*I’ll see that you’re cleared for entrance with the guard on duty. Prowl out.*_

Closing the comm link, Ratchet turned his attention to the energon dispenser installed in the far corner of the repair bay. He drew off four small cubes, dropping in a mineral supplement to boost the Recordicons’ self-repair nanites and some additional additives to make the fuel easier for them to process. That accomplished, he subspaced the cubes and headed for the brig.

Windcharger was on duty, and greeted Ratchet’s arrival with a smile and a nod. “Heya, doc.”

“How are they looking?” he asked.

“Like bored Decepticons,” Windcharger replied with a shrug. “Prowl said you wanted to check on them, but if you ask me, there’s nothing wrong with ‘em a little entertainment wouldn’t cure. I wouldn’t mind having a radio or a TV down here myself–”

“Right,” Ratchet said brusquely, moving past the guard station and into the short hallway that separated the Recordicons’ cells. He walked past them slowly, peering cautiously into each one. 

Ravage didn’t so much as growl as he unsubspaced one of the energon cubes he’d blended and slid it through the gap in the bars. Frenzy appeared to be deep in recharge. Laserbeak didn’t even look up. 

The silence in the room was almost eerie, and Ratchet felt something strangely akin to relief when Rumble actually met his gaze. “Feeding time,” he said.

Rumble’s only response was a bitter smirk, but at least it _was_ a response. He slid down off the narrow berth and approached the front of his cell, reaching past the glowing bars to accept the cube Ratchet offered him. The servos in his shoulder produced a loud grinding noise. 

Rumble’s helm jerked up guiltily, a look of panic flashing across his faceplate. He yanked his hand back, nearly spilling the energon. The servos whined in protest.

Ratchet’s optics widened in disbelief. He’d scanned Rumble himself just three days ago, and the Decepticon had been perfectly fine. How could he have become damaged in so little ti–

 _Not damaged,_ he thought. _Sabotaged. They were all malingering, or maybe stashing a portion of their energon rations to use as a bribe, or cannibalizing their own bodies for parts to build a bomb…_

A surge of anger shot through him. He couldn’t believe it. Red Alert had actually been _right._ The four of them _were_ up to something, and from the looks of it, Rumble was the ringleader.

 _I should have known,_ he thought. _Here I was feeling sorry for them, and they’ve been playing me for a fool._ “Lower the bars,” he ordered.

“Uh…are you sure, doc?” If Windcharger seemed unnerved by his tone, Ratchet doubted he looked half as alarmed as Rumble did.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he replied, never taking his optics off the Decepticon.

The bars came down, and Rumble tried to dart past him, dropping the energon cube and ducking to the side. But Ratchet was anticipating just such a maneuver, and grabbed him before he could escape, lifting him clear off the floor. 

“What did you do?” he demanded, making sure to get a firm grip on Rumble’s arms so the Recordicon couldn’t deploy his piledrivers. “What are you little fraggers up to?”

“Nothin’!” Rumble struggled against his hold, aiming a futile kick at his midsection. “We didn’t do nothin’! Lemme go!”

“Leave him alone!” Frenzy shouted from his cell. Laserbeak and Ravage shrieked and roared in apparent agreement.

Ratchet ignored them. “What are you plotting? What happened to your arm?” 

More struggling, another kick. “Nothin’!” Rumble said again. “Put me down, you fragger!”

“Nothing, eh? Then you won’t object to me scanning you.”

For a brief astrosecond, Rumble stopped fighting. “What? No! Frag you, Autobot! Let go ‘a me!”

Ratchet scowled, renewing his grip. “Initiating medical scan.”

“Frag you!” Rumble launched another kick at him, this time scoring a hit that put a solid dent in Ratchet’s bumper. The sharp pain loosened his grip, and Rumble twisted in his hands, managing to tear one of his arms free. Metal components shifted, accompanied by the familiar sound of transformation.

Ratchet braced himself for a rain of blows, but all that followed was the wheezy stutter of failing hydraulics. _What the-?_ He stared in disbelief at Rumble’s left arm, trapped in mid-transformation between a deadly piledriver and a functioning limb. It wasn’t even the same arm that had made the grinding noise earlier – that had been the right one.

If he was surprised, Rumble was stunned – and that didn’t make any sense, either. If the Recordicons had been cannibalizing their own bodies for parts, surely he’d have known his weapon wouldn’t work?

 _What the frag is going on here?_

The room had become deathly quiet save for the harsh rasp of Rumble’s overtaxed ventilation system. He hung limply in Ratchet’s hold, his too-bright visor fixed on his own malfunctioning arm.

Something was wrong here – very, very wrong. Ratchet leaned forward, activating his medical scanner.

A heavy blow from a partially-transformed arm impacted the side of his helm, followed by a kick to the faceplate. Ratchet staggered backward, Rumble’s battlecry ringing in his audials. The smaller mech was bucking and twisting in his hands, trying to escape his grasp, but Ratchet doggedly held on.

_“Let go of me!”_

_“What happened to your arm?”_

_“Kiss my aft!”_

There was more cursing, threats, and insults both in English and Cybertronian as the rest of the Recordicons joined in, shouting and snarling and screeching in outrage. Ratchet had to dial his vocalizer up to maximum just to be heard over the din, and Rumble’s was rapidly giving way to distorted static.

 _"St-p it! Get yo-r h-nds off m-! Bo-!"_ The rest was lost in a howl of feedback.

And then Rumble was pulled out of his hands, rising up into the air as if he’d suddenly become weightless. For a moment Ratchet was baffled – then he remembered Windcharger. 

“Thanks,” he said.

“No problem,” Windcharger replied from behind him. “Prowl’s on his way.”

Trapped by Windcharger’s magnetic field, Rumble no longer had the weight or leverage to put up much of a fight. He was left dangling helplessly in midair, his vents cycling hard, optics darting about in search of an escape. “Let me down, you fraggers,” he said, but his tone had lost much of its belligerence.

Ratchet’s comm pinged. _*I was right, wasn’t I?*_ Red Alert sounded triumphant.

He groaned inwardly. If he was, they’d never hear the end of it. _*I don’t know yet. Looks that way.*_ The door slid open, the light from the hallway silhouetting Prowl’s familiar black-and-white frame. _*Prowl’s here; let’s see what he has to say.*_

Prowl came in, greeting him and Windcharger with a nod, and Ratchet patched him into the comm link with Red Alert. _*Ratchet,*_ he said without preamble, _*what have you discovered?*_

 _*I was just about to run a medical scan on Rumble here,*_ he replied. _*From the looks of things, he’s way more damaged than he ought to be.*_

Prowl nodded, clearly noting Rumble’s mistransformed arm and defiant expression. “Proceed.”

Rumble’s struggles renewed when he registered the faint tingle of the medical scan sweeping over him, but there wasn’t anywhere for him to go – Windcharger’s magnetic field held him firmly in place.

The results were alarming. _*How is this even possible?*_ Ratchet said. _*There’s no way he could have incurred this much damage in only three days. Not sitting in a cell, anyway.*_

_*Could it be deliberate self-sabotage?*_ Prowl asked.

 _*Maybe,*_ he replied uncertainly. It was normal for parts to wear out over time, but even without regular maintenance they normally lasted for orns. Rumble’s activity couldn’t have accounted for that much wear; Red Alert would have seen it on the security cameras.

 _*It’s a plot,*_ Red Alert said. _*They wanted to trick us into taking them out of their cells.*_

“Hey,” he said to Rumble. “How'd you get this damaged? You were fine three days ago.”

Rumble glared back at him and said nothing.

Ratchet frowned. _*Well, I need to fix his arm, at least,*_ he said. _*Might as well disable his piledrivers while I’m at it. Then I can take him to repair bay to deal with the rest.*_

Prowl considered for a moment. _*He’ll need to be restrained.*_

He nodded. “Right, sure.” Stepping forward, he addressed Rumble again. “I’m going to fix your arm. I suggest you cooperate.”

Rumble glanced from him to Prowl, who had unsubspaced his rifle and aimed it in his direction. His optics were still too bright behind his visor, but he didn’t refuse. 

Ratchet knelt down and got to work. Within a few kliks, Rumble had a hand again – Ratchet could have sworn the level of tension in the Recordicons’s frame eased a fraction as Rumble flexed his recovered fingers – and his piledrivers were offline. Ratchet didn’t think Rumble was aware of the latter, but he suspected he’d find out soon enough.

His task complete, Ratchet stepped back. Prowl handed him his rifle and moved forward, extracting a set of stasis cuffs from his subspace. 

“What’s goin’ on?” There was no mistaking the nervous quaver in Rumble’s voice now. “Stay away from me, Autobot, I’m warnin’ you –”

“Remain calm,” Prowl said. “You are being taken for repairs. You will not be harmed.”

Evidently not reassured, Rumble began to struggle once more, but Windcharger’s magnetic field kept him under control. Prowl was able to affix the stasis cuffs with ease, but didn’t activate them, content to use them merely as restraints…for now.

Prowl transmitted the codes for the stasis cuffs to him directly, then spoke over the shared comm link. _*Ratchet, are you quite certain you can handle him on your own? I can easily provide an escort.*_

He stared at Rumble, noting once again the too-bright optics, the rapid cycling of his vents. _He’s scared,_ he realized abruptly. _He has no idea what’s going to happen to him – to any of them._

It occurred to Ratchet that _he_ didn’t know, either. _*Hmm, let me think,*_ he said. _*His weapons are offline, he’s in stasis cuffs, he’s damaged, and he’s half my size. Yeah, I think I can manage.*_

_*When you’re finished with him, he comes to me,*_ Red Alert insisted. _*I want to know exactly what they’ve been up to, down to the last detail.*_

 _*Sure Red, whatever you say,*_ he agreed. _*While you’ve got him I can check the others.*_

 _*And Prowl, I want his cell searched for contraband,*_ Red Alert continued. _*We mustn’t leave anyth-*_

Ratchet dropped out of the link, returning Prowl’s rifle to him and turning to Windcharger. “You can let him down now.”

Windcharger looked at Prowl, who nodded. Slowly Rumble was lowered to the ground, and Ratchet took hold of his arm again. The magnetic field released.

“This way,” Ratchet said, giving the Decepticon’s arm a tug. Rumble didn’t budge.

Ratchet sighed. This was going to be a long walk.

* * *

“Quit dragging your feet.”

“Quit bossin' me around. You’re walkin’ too fast.” 

_The things I put up with,_ Ratchet thought irritably. He could have sworn the repair bay was only a short walk from the brig, but today it seemed miles away. The more he tried to hurry, the more Rumble dug in his heels to try and slow them down. They _were_ making progress, but it was taking long enough that Ratchet was sorely tempted to just activate the stasis cuffs and be done with it.

“You could try acting a little grateful,” he said. “I didn't have to repair you, you know.”

“Fine, take me back to my cell," Rumble replied. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

Ratchet scowled and tried another tack. “What happened to your arm?”

“Some moron keeps twistin’ it. What happened to my piledrivers?”

Lying to a patient – even a POW as combative as Rumble – was no way for a medic to establish trust. “I deactivated them.”

Rumble made a derisive noise. “Some medic _you_ are. You break everything you try to fix?”

Ratchet ignored the barb. The wide double doors of the repair bay were just ahead, and Rumble seemed to get heavier with every step. By the time they were close enough to activate the sliding doors, Ratchet was practically dragging him. 

“I’ll get you some energon once we’re inside,” he said, hoping Rumble would accept the peace offering.

No such luck. “Drink it yourself, Autodo-”

Ratchet stumbled, brought up short as Rumble suddenly came to a halt, breaking off mid-insult. He glanced down, expecting to be greeted by a defiant smirk, but Rumble’s gaze was fixed on something just beyond the open repair bay doors.

Frowning, Ratchet followed his gaze to – oh. Oh, _slag._

He’d left Soundwave on the table.

Cursing inwardly, Ratchet thought fast and acted faster. He quickly stepped in front of Rumble, cutting off his view of Soundwave’s lifeless shell and the extracted components stacked up around him and steering him toward one of the private rooms at the rear of the repair bay.

Rumble offered no resistance when Ratchet picked him up and plunked him down on the berth, not even when the door hissed shut behind them. The sight of Soundwave’s remains seemed to have taken all the fight out of him. 

“We need to talk,” Ratchet said.


End file.
